


"Honorary Husbands" Is A Mouthful (let's drop a word)

by SpicyReyes



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Casual discussions of suicide, Gratuitous Song Lyrics, M/M, this is really gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:34:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8261141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: Deadpool has a bad day, but, like the merc himself always does, it gets better.





	

“ _You and me, we’re not the same~…”_ Check bullets, count them, load gun. _“I am a sinner; you are a saint…”_ Check gun to make sure you haven’t forgotten something stupid, like the safety. Again. “ _When we get to the pearly gates, you’ll get the green light, I’ll get the old door in the-…”_

Footsteps.

 _Aim_ gun at intruder.

Turn to look.

“…Face,” Wade Wilson finished, taking in the sight before him.

“Are you seriously singing a _Mother Mother_ song on the roof, in your costume, in the middle of the day?” Nate asked him.

“Uh, _no,”_ Wade said. “I’ll have you know, my lovely husband-…”

“We’re not actually married.”

“Shut _up,_ let a boy _dream –_ that it’s four hours _past_ the ‘middle of the day.’”

Nathan checked his watch (ignoring, like always, that it was one Deadpool himself had gotten him, and thus bright pink). “It’s only two thirty.”

“What?!” Wade cried out, rolling his suit sleeve up, checking his own watch ( _also_ pink, but with _glitter,_ which made his _vastly_ superior). “Mine says _four_ thirty!”

Nate sighed. “ _Wade,_ when have you ever actually checked to make sure that watch is right?”

 “Um,” he murmured. “…When were we in London? I changed the time zone on like, the third day.”

“We were only _there_ for three days,” Nate said, exasperated. “And that was, like, two months ago.”

“Time is relative, hubby.”

Silence, and Wade presumed Nate was gathering the shreds of his patience.

“What are you doing on the roof, Wade?” he finally asked, apparently deeming it priority information.

“Would you believe bird-watching?” the merc replied.

“We’re on a New York City apartment building,” Nate replied. “So unless you _really_ like pigeons, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Don’t doubt my love for demon birds, Natey.”

Nate pulled a face at the nickname. “Yeah, we’re not doing that one.” Before Deadpool could reply, he continued, “ _Reasons,_ Wilson.”

“Aw, were you getting lonely in the apartment without me?” Wade said, batting his eyelashes before realizing that Cable couldn’t actually see that under his mask. “You can’t see my face, but-…”

“I figured,” Nate cut him off. “You aren’t really subtle with body language when you’re fucking around.”

Wade sighed deeply, and looked back out at the skyline, singing again. “ _Do-do-do-do, I’m a loser, a disgrace. You’re a beauty, a luminary, in my face.”_

“Wade. _Deadpool.”_

Louder, Wade just continued, drowning his honorary husband out. “ _I’ve got a lot of not a lot, not a lot less than a lot!”_

And then he tucked his gun under his chin.

“Oh,” Nate said. “Head getting loud?”

A gunshot was his answer.

 

 

It was a true testament to how well they loved each other, Wade figured, that when he woke up still on the roof, he didn’t even have to get his bearings or anything before he knew that Nate hadn’t left.

Nate never really _left,_ when Deadpool did stuff like…that. Sometimes he’d leave the room, or something, because you could only watch your pretend husband bleed out for so long before it got old, but he never just straight up took off.

“ _Much_ better,” Wade sighed, as he felt his brain tissue heal. The voices and false sensory inputs would start up again, soon, but a bullet through the center of the brain usually got them to be quiet for a while.

He had maybe an hour of peace.

Time to make the most of it.

He turned his head, seeking out Cable. “Yo, big guy, wanna bone?”

“Such a romantic,” Nate drawled, but helped Wade to his feet anyway. “Maybe in the shower.”

“Saying I stink?” Wade asked. “I’m wounded.”

Nate poked his forehead, making him wince. “Yeah, you _are._ And you also smell very strongly of your own blood, so. Shower.”

“Okay, okay,” Wade conceded. “Race you!”

Nate rolled his eyes as his false husband ran to the edge of the roof, and dropped down to the first fire escape, starting to drop down between floors that way.

He, on the other hand, took the stairs down.

Because he was the _sensible_ one.

 

 

 

They _did_ end up fucking in the shower, and after the shower, and then again after that, because Wade had no sense of ‘moderation’ and his healing factor made him generally unfair in bed.

After _that,_ though, Cable shoved Wade away and went to bed, declaring himself exhausted, and told Wade to find something non-destructive to do while he napped.

Wade’s choice was to seek out his maid dress, don it, and clean the apartment.

Which, honestly, mostly consisted of dancing around the kitchen to his MP3 player playlist entitled “BAD DAY JAMS.”

He was singing along to Maria Mena’s _All This Time,_ a personal favorite of his for motivation on shitty days, when his mood suddenly and unexpectedly began to drop again.

It took him a second to realize it was the line in the song – _He really loves you, you just don’t always love yourself –_ that did it, and when that clicked, he groaned.

“Not this again, Wade!” he yelled at himself, running a hand down his face. “You are totally fine being completely unloved. That’s what you _deserve_ , anyway. Anything more, even light affection, is totally unexpected and should be welcomed as a goddamn miracle. He’ll fuck you, which is more than you could say in his shoes, because we look like moldy Swiss cheese.”

“Bad mental image,” Nate’s voice came from behind him, and Wade jumped. “Nice dress. What was that you were saying about _unloved?”_

Wade flushed. “…Bad Wade. Talk to ourselves _quietly.”_ Then, to Nate, he said, “I thought you were gonna sleep?”

“Some idiot kept yelling,” Nate told him. “I figured I should come shut him up.”

“Funny, I tried that, too,” Wade said. “He just won’t stay down.”

Nate rolled his eyes and stepped off where he was leaning against the wall, approaching Wade and sliding an arm around his waist. “I was thinking more…”

And Nate kissed him.

Wade groaned into it, and when Nate pulled back in confusion, Wade protested. “We fucked, like, three times. Not that I’m not _totally down_ for more, but I don’t think you are.”

“I can kiss you without having sex with you,” Nate pointed out.

“Yeah, but you…don’t,” Wade argued.

Nate suddenly looked _very_ upset. “Surely I do _sometimes.”_

“Uh, nope,” Wade said. “Can’t recall an instance.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Wade told him, forcing chipperness. “Usually when we make out I end up with a boner anyway, so it all works out.”

Nate kissed his cheek, at that, which, _weird._ Non-lip kisses were super weird. _Astronomically_ weird.

Wade’s stomach did a happy little turn. _Traitor,_ he thought. _No butterflies, we’re not a teenager._

Nate laughed, and Wade realized he must’ve said that out loud. “Oops.”

“Never change, Wade,” Nate told him.

Wade felt like the floor fell out. _That_ was something he’d honestly never heard.

It must have shown on his face, because Nate rolled his eyes. “What? I could do without _some_ things, sure, but as a whole, I like you. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“…Did I actually die on the roof, this time?” Wade asked. “Because this has _weird afterlife_ written all over it.”

“Heaven or Hell?”

“Haven’t decided,” Wade said honestly. Then, because he was a piece of shit and couldn’t let a moment pass without a joke, he added, “That depends on if my dick ends up in your mouth.”

“Well, guess it’s Hell,” Nate replied easily.

“Who says that’s not where I expected to get a blowjob?” Wade asked. “You’re overestimating your dick-sucking skills, if you ask me.”

Nate shoved him lightly in response. Well, ‘ _lightly’ –_ he still stumbled a fair bit. “I don’t really _have_ those. Seeing as I don’t suck dick.”

“You’ve seriously never sucked dick?” Wade asked. “That’s awful. I married a selfish man.”

“Not _really_ married, yet,” Nate said. “And it’s just-…”

“Did you just say ‘ _yet’?”_

Nate looked ready to bolt. “Oh. Uh.”

Wade beamed. “You just _accidentally_ proposed, didn’t you? That’s precious.”

“Yeah, well,” Nate said. “…Will you?”

“Will I _what?”_

“Wade.”

“Nope,” Wade said. “You’re not getting away with this. I want a _real_ proposal.”

Nate rolled his eyes, and Wade fully expected him to say something like ‘forget it’ and walk away.

And while he did leave the room, Wade did _not_ expect him coming back in, and sinking to one knee.

“Wait, seriously?” Wade asked. “You’re really gonna-…”  
“Wade Wilson,” and yep, that was a ring box. With a ring in it. A _pretty_ ring. “Will you-…”

“Hell _yes,”_ Wade replied.

“I didn’t finish.”

“Sorry.”

Nate sighed. “Will you marry me?”

And there was silence.

Nate blinked. “…Wade?”

“Important question, _Wade Summers_ or _Nathan Wilson_?”

“Both of those sound weird,” Nate admitted.

“Yeah, you’re right. Guess we can’t get married, our names don’t sound good together.”

“Shut up,” Nate said, getting off the ground. “Just marry me, asshole.”

“Now _there’s_ a proposal worthy of us,” Wade said. “I guess I have to do that, now, huh?”

Nate put a hand under Wade’s chin, tipping it up and giving him a slow kiss.

“…You’re totally gonna be _Nathan Wilson.”_

“Yeah, probably,” Nate agreed. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin your alliteration.”

Wade wanted to make a joke. What came out was “I love you.”

“I know,” Nate replied.

Wade punched his shoulder. “What kind of Han Solo bullshit-…”

Nate laughed, cutting Wade off with a kiss.

“Love you, too, idiot.”

The watched each other for a minute.

“So, uh,” Wade said. “Round four, or…?”

“You’re awful.”  
“That’s not a _no.”_

“No,” Nate agreed. “It’s not.”

“Race you?”

“To where? We don’t technically have to leave the kitchen.”

“…You’re a genius.”

 


End file.
